For the first time in his life, Savva's actions were unpredictable—he was being controlled by his emotions rather than cold, hard logic. The mere fact he had decided to take Ibrahim Mazur up on his offer spoke legions about his current mindset. Mazur was known throughout Russia as an extremely dangerous man—one that others would tiptoe around so as not to incur his wrath. His reputation for being a brutal and merciless enemy was well deserved, and with just a few simple words, Savva had unleashed the coiled serpent from its cage. Now Zmey would stop at nothing, not resting until the job was complete.
It was the middle of the Moroi day when he stepped out of the brightly lit clinic; his eyes automatically adjusted, pupils enlarging in the inky darkness that waited outside the smoked glass doors. Replaying the phone call in his mind, he headed across campus towards the great hall. The part of him that respected authority screamed out in disgust at what he had set in motion, but his protective nature—not to mention his love for Sofiya—squashed his revulsion down. He had attempted to follow the rules, counting on the council to do the honorable thing. Instead they had done the unthinkable, letting the boys off without even a warning. The Badica family could petition the Queen for intervention, but would she bother when of the boys involved was an Ivashkov—a member of her own family? No, in the end, it would rest on his shoulders to deliver the punishment for such treachery. Prince Badica could handle the council in whatever way he saw fit, but the perpetrators of the vile act—the Moroi bastards who had violated his Sofiya would answer to Savva Luzhkov, and he would accept no less than blood price.
The dining room was full when he entered, his eyes automatically searching for the boys in question and finding them in an instant. All conversation in the room ceased as he neared the table, his footsteps echoing through the great room, warning them of his approach.
One by one he met their eyes, his rage growing at the smug smiles on their pale, arrogant faces. They sat dressed in their casual clothes, always looking down their noses at dhampirs—the very people who protecting their sheltered, pampered skin from the dangers than lurked outside the wards, the people that lay down their lives down as forfeit for the Moroi. Surrounded by the non-royal flunkies that hung on their every word, the royals were self-assured that with their wealth and power no one would dare cross them. That is, until they saw the look in Savva's dark eyes, and felt the tense anger that practically radiated from his pores, surrounding him like a cloud. Their smiles slowly faded away as he delivered his promise in a low, clear voice that carried no further than their table.
"While at this Academy, you are protected, but with my life I vow that as soon as you set foot off these grounds, you are mine. I will hunt you down like the dogs you are, and there is nowhere on earth that you can hide from me. I will have vengeance for my Sofiya."
He stared at them a minute more while his threat sank in, then turned and left the room as quietly as he had entered. Whispers followed in his wake as he passed each table, but he ignored them. Let them all speculate as to what he'd said, it did not matter—in the end, they had no proof. And he would make sure it stayed that way.
The next week Sofiya remained under constant sedation—no one could control her. It pained him to see her frail wrists strapped down to the bed, but he understood that the medical staff had no choice in the matter. When she awoke she was like a madwoman, attacking anyone and everyone that dared approach her. In her brief periods of lucidity she altered between spontaneous laughter and meaningless ramblings that made no sense at all. She would thrash against the straps that bound her, screaming curses at Savva for betraying her. She hurled accusations at him, claiming he had never loved her, and that he was in league with the demons who had tortured her. A lesser man would have buckled from grief at her condition, but he refused to give up, never leaving her bedside, singing to her or reading aloud—even spending hours brushing her silken hair. He ignored her cruel words, knowing in his heart that she could not help the things she said. He told anyone who would listen that she would come back to him, in time. He believed it—he had to believe it. The alternative was too horrible to consider. He spent every waking moment she had trying to reach through the haze of drugs and madness that clouded her mind.
The nurses in the infirmary grew accustomed to his presence. In fact, unless he called for them, they left Sofiya's room relatively unattended once her sedatives had been administered. Besides changing out her I.V. drips and emptying her catheter there was little they could do to help the poor girl. From time to time they would glance in from the doorway, always seeing Savva seated beside the bed, his hand outstretched, their fingers entwined. He slept in the chair, his dark head resting on the bed near her captive hand. The nurses were kind, going out of their way to bring him food and drink, always offering him words of encouragement. To the staff of the clinic he was a tragic, noble figure, always on guard and ever vigilant for the slightest change in Sofiya's condition. Which is why they were all stunned beyond belief when they realized that Savva Luzhkov was the prime suspect in the disappearance of Anton Dashkov. It was impossible for them to comprehend as the man had not left his fiancee's bedside in almost a fortnight.
When the Moroi lord's absence was first noted, no one thought much about it. As was the case with most royal Moroi, he had the habit of spending long weekends away from the Academy. His immense wealth fueled parties that sometimes lasted for days at the nearest blood whore establishments, and he was adept at slipping in and out of the grounds without attracting the slightest bit of notice.
His friends, however, had not been invited to accompany him on his last sojourn, and that small fact struck them as extremely odd. They took their concerns to the headmaster, who in turn launched a full investigation. Guardians were dispatched to the nearby settlements, but their search for answers proved futile—each came back empty handed. With no leads in sight perhaps it was only natural for the headmaster to question Savva Luzhkov. After all, Dashkov was one of the men who had attacked Sofiya.
He was at her bedside when the guardians came for him, a book of poems in his hands as he read aloud in a soft, low pitched voice. As soon as they stated their demands he folded down the corner of the page then set the book aside, gently kissing Sofiya's brow. He knew—of course—why they were there, of course, but he wore a mask of complete confusion—it was imperative that everyone believe him to be innocent. He was prepared to follow them without question, as he had been trained to do since childhood.
He summoned a nurse to sit with Sofiya; when the woman appeared in the doorway and took in the sight of two guardians standing tensely behind him, she demanded answers to the questions Savva had not voiced.
"What's this about Guardian Luzhkov?"
"I am not sure, Madam. All I know is that these gentlemen say I must accompany them."
She glared at the guardians, her hands on her almost nonexistent hips, her green eyes flashing dangerously. "Where are you taking him?"
The senior guardian spoke up, his face flushing with embarrassment. It was obvious this was not a task he relished in the slightest. "To see the headmaster—he is to be questioned with regards to a missing royal."
"Ridiculous! He hasn't left that chair except to use the facilities! He doesn't even leave to eat—we have to bring trays of food in to him." She stepped closer, her face furious. "He's not going anywhere with you."
Savva put a restraining hand on her arm. "Please madam, they will see it is a mistake. These men are just doing as they were ordered. Do not interfere with their jobs—it would make things difficult for them."
Bowing his head respectfully, he allowed the guardians to lead him from the room. He bit the inside of his cheek to contain his mirth when the nurse's raised voice drifted down the hall, loudly cursing the stupidity of the headmaster. As they reached the door he glanced back, to see a small gathering of women clustering around the door to Sofiya's room, all chattering away in angry voices as they watched the guardians steering him out of the building.
Boreyev didn't waste any time by beating around the bush, accusing him outright of killing Dashkov in order to avenge Sofiya's honor. Savva denied every word, staring the headmaster directly in the eye as he answered every question and accusation in a carefully modulated voice. He accounted for each minute of the days in question; offering the names of those who'd witnessed his whereabouts for the time he was at Sofiya's bedside. In the end, Boreyev had no grounds on which to hold him, releasing him after administering several thinly veiled threats. He returned to his vigil at Sofiya's side with a small, pleased smile on his face.
Within a few days' time the rumor mill took over—common consensus around campus had Dashkov on the run from his family with his pregnant blood whore mistress in tow. The fact that Dashkov was being held captive in the root cellar of a small, abandoned farmhouse a few miles outside the academy grounds was only known by two people—and neither of them would be disclosing the truth anytime soon.
He kept his calm demeanor each time the guardians came to collect him, always following them directly to Headmaster Boreyev for further questioning. Twice it happened in the next week, first to discuss the recently missing Vitaly Ozera, then again when Oleg Ivashkov disappeared. Savva smiled at Boreyev, suggesting that perhaps there was dissention between the men who had perpetrated the attack on his fiancee. It was not unheard of for criminals to turn on their own, after all.
Boreyev's eyes were like lasers as he stared impassively at the dhampir. "I know you're involved in this, Luzhkov."
"Impossible sir." Savva's voice was soft, but firm. "You have no proof, because there is none to be had. I am innocent of any wrong doing."
"Bullshit! This has your name written all over it! You have to know you won't get away with—"
A loud commotion from the outer waiting area stopped the man in mid rant. A moment later the door burst open and several women swarmed into the headmaster's immense office startling its inhabitants. Boreyev's secretary pushed her way to the front, her pale cheeks flushed with anger.
"I'm sorry sir—they refused to wait. I couldn't stop them—"
"It's fine Anastasia." He glared at the newcomers, his expression fierce. "What is the meaning of this?"
"We're here to testify on behalf of Guardian Luzhkov. He has not left the infirmary since Lady Badica was brought in, and you damn well know it. We've left you countless messages, all of which you've ignored." Savva glanced over at the woman, amazed to see that it was the greened eyed nurse who was speaking out on his behalf. Accompanying her were several other members of the clinic staff, including the senior physician. The nurse stalked towards the headmaster, slamming a stack of papers down on his desk. "These are statements from every member of the medical staff, attesting to what I've just said. We have copies ready to send to the court, if need be, along with a witnessed complaint stating that you have refused to hear our testimony."
"This isn't a courtroom—it's an informal questioning," Boreyev said.
"It's a goddamn witch hunt and you know it," the woman hissed. "You've already tried to sweep what happened to Sofiya Badica under the rug and now you're trying to pin these disappearances on her dhampir lover."
"I won't stand for foul language in my presence Miss Zhabin."
"It's Mrs. Zhabin. Before I was married I was an Ivashkov— Oleg is my second cousin."
"All the more reason that you should want me to get to the bottom of this, I would think." The headmaster's sly smile faded as her hand slammed down on his desk.
"You would think wrong. Oleg deserved whatever has happened to him. Sofiya Badica isn't the first woman he's brutalized—have you forgotten the dhampir girl he attacked last year? Or Daria Lidnin, the non-royal Moroi he raped on winter break? You've been covering up his crimes for far too long, Boreyev" She leaned forward, her face inches from the older man's. "Leave Savva alone. This is the only warning you're going to receive. The next time I mention these things, it will be to the Royal Council and her majesty, the Queen."
Nurse Zhabin cast Savva a look that spoke volumes, then turned, leaving the room with her co-workers trailing after her, all of them pausing to touch Savva on the shoulder in a show of solidarity. Terse silence filled the room for a moment, before the headmaster cleared his throat.
"Obviously they are trying to cover for you. You've had to leave the infirmary to attend your patrols and could have easily have slipped away then. I'm surprised the fools didn't realize it."
"Actually, sir," a sandy haired guardian stepped away from the wall, nodding towards Savva, "he hasn't been patrolling. We've covered his shifts so he can look after Lady Badica. He is the only one who can calm her."
Boreyev's jaw tightened in anger, his eyes filled with rage. Savva stared across the desk, his face a mask of total composure. A moment later when the headmaster dismissed him with a yet another warning, Savva paused before the guardian who'd intervened, clasping hands with the man in a gesture of thanks. He left the administrative building with a tight lipped smile on his face, pleased to see that he finally seemed to be reaping the rewards of his habitual kindness to others.
However bleak and troublesome his world might appear at the moment, the actions of the people who had stood beside him spoke legions, uplifting his spirits beyond belief. He reveled in the fact that there were good people in the world, willing to step forward and stand up for what they thought was right.
His thoughts shifted to the three missing Moroi, and his smile became noticeably grim. So far he had been lucky, but there were still two—well , three if you counted the unknown assailant, to be dealt with. For now, they would remain untouched, their fear eating away at them from the inside out as they wondered what had happened to their missing friends. Yes, Voda, Szelsky and their mysterious friend would have a brief reprieve, but the others—the three missing Moroi—would meet justice in a few hours. But first… he had to go hunting—and the game Savva had in mind was more deadly than anyone could imagine.
